Category: Isaac’s Adventures Underground

He did have questions. Unfortunately, Isaac couldn’t remember any of them. Why was he here? The spider, right. “Have you seen a spider?” he asked.

“I eat spiders,” the owl said.

“Me too,” said the bat. “Do you have any?”

Fear flashed like a bright light behind his eyes. “Did you eat any recently?” Isaac asked.

“What does recently mean?” the owl asked.

“Did you eat any spiders today?” Isaac asked.

“It’s night time,” the bat said.

Isaac pointed up to the roof of leaves and branches. “It’s just dark. It’s not night yet.”

The owl shrugged. “We’re only awake at night, and we’re awake now, so it must be night. That’s only logical.”

“If we could look at a clock,” Isaac began.

“Do you have one?” the bat asked.

Isaac checked his pockets again, just in case a clock snuck in when he wasn’t looking. Considering how his day had gone, it was somehow a possibility. But there was no clock. “I don’t have one,” Isaac said. “But if I did…”

“But you don’t,” the bat said. “So it doesn’t matter.”

“It was light out when I was walking here,” Isaac said. He pointed up at the leaves again. “It’s just all that stuff in the way that makes it dark.”

“Do you know how long you were walking?” The owl asked.

“Not long enough for it to be night,” Isaac said.

“How do you know?” the bat said.

“Well, I don’t have a clock, but I couldn’t have been walking that long,” Isaac said. “The sun was still up.”

“Can you be sure?” the owl asked. “We can’t see the sun now. Are you good at keeping track of time?”

The bat snorted. “I bet he’s never even met him.”

“Met who?” Isaac asked.

“Time,” the bat said.

“Time’s a person?” Isaac asked.

“No, Time is Time, of course,” the bat said.

Isaac wasn’t even sure what they were talking about any more. “It can’t be night, I’m not tired yet.”

“It’s night when you are tired?” the owl asked. “How can anyone tell if it’s night when you aren’t around?”

“Don’t you sleep when it’s night?” Isaac asked.

“We sleep when it’s day,” the owl said.

“You can tell it’s day by all of the tiresome sunshine,” the bat said.

“But it’s only dark here because of the leaves and branches and stuff,” Isaac said. “Do you ever sleep at all?”

“Not at night,” the bat said.

“If it’s always dark and you never sleep, wouldn’t you go crazy?” Isaac asked.

“I don’t know, how can you tell?” the bat asked. “I don’t feel crazy. I’m not so sure about you, though.”

“I’m just fine,” Isaac said. “It’s the rest of the world that’s gone strange today.”

“That sounds suspicious to me,” the owl said. “It seems much more likely that there is something wrong with you.   The simplest answer is the most likely, after all.”

Isaac frowned. He didn’t like where this conversation was going. “So, nobody around here sleeps at all?”

“Well, there’s the lazy squirrel that lives in the log. He’s always sleeping,” the bat said.

“Surely he must wake up sometimes,” Isaac said. “Unless he’s hibernating. Is it the right time of year for hibernating?”

“You don’t even know what time of day it is,” the bat said. “Do you think figuring out the time of year would be any easier?”

The bat had a point. Isaac was done arguing. “Just tell me if you’ve seen a spider,” he said.

“I don’t remember one,” the bat said.

“But you have a terrible memory,” the owl said.

“So do you,” the bat said.

“No I don’t,” the owl said.

“Yes, you do,” said a new voice. Isaac looked down. A squirrel looked back up at him from a gap in the side of the log. It blinked slowly.

“What do you know?” the bat asked. “You’re always sleeping.”

“I’m not sleeping, I’m remembering,” the squirrel said. “Would you like to hear what I remembered?”

Isaac pulled the feathers out of his pocket and used them to grow a little bigger. He wanted to be able to travel faster while still being small enough to see and recognize the spider.   He hurried down the path, and soon realized that the light was growing dimmer.

The trees were taller here, and grew closer together. Their branches were tangled with each other, weaving a roof of branches, leaves, and vines that shut out most of the light. Isaac stumbled over rocks and roots, trying to keep to the path.

Just as he was ready to turn around, he saw a faint golden-green glow on the path ahead.   He knelt down and pulled the feathers out of his pocket while looking to see where the light came from. He was hoping to find fireflies or something else that could maybe give him directions after he shrunk to the appropriate size.

Instead, he found a feathery, glowing plant that gave just enough light to see the path ahead to the next clumps of glowing golden-green spots.   That was convenient. Isaac stood up and put the feathers away and followed the path of light forward.

There were noises out in the darkness off the path. Rustling sounds and snapping sounds and sounds that might be the wind or might be someone breathing. It was a little scary. And yet, with everything dark except for the glowing moss, he could almost believe he was somewhere else.

Maybe he was really at home in bed, dreaming one of those odd dreams that he could only half remember after he woke up. Isaac pinched his arm. It hurt.   That meant that he wasn’t dreaming, right? He closed his eyes and opened them. It was still dark, and he wasn’t in his bed.

Perhaps he was still dreaming and it was just a very realistic dream.   “Wake up,” he said out loud.   Something nearby made a crackling sound, and then there was the soft thud, thud of something small running away.

Maybe he wasn’t dreaming. What did that mean? Apparently, it meant that there were really caves with fancy hotel lobbies inside and potted plants that were portals into other dimensions. Or maybe there was just the one. The world was much stranger than Isaac had ever realized.

His eyes prickled with hot tears. Why hadn’t he listened when they told him not to go into the woods? He could be safe at home and his normal size right now. It was just all so strange and scary. What if something was sneaking up right now, ready to gobble him up in one bite. His family would never know what happened to him.

Isaac was just imagining his parents building a little memorial to him in the backyard, when he heard voices ahead on the path. Was someone singing? He quickly dried his eyes with the heels of his hands and tried to quietly hurry forward, which wasn’t easy to do at all.

In a small clearing ringed with glowing moss and tiny white mushrooms, there was a large fallen tree. It was as dark here as anywhere else, so any gap left by the tree when it fell had long ago been filled in.

At one end of the log, a branch stuck out at an angle. On top of the branch, an owl was perched, singing “Row, row, row your boat…”

Below the branch, a bat was perched, hanging upside-down and humming along. The owl stopped singing at the end of the first line and stomped his foot. “Hey!”

“What?” the bat asked.

“You’re supposed to come in there,” the owl said.

“I forgot,” the bat said. “Try again?”

“This time, you go first,” the owl said.

“Row, row, row your boat…” the bat sang, and paused. “Weren’t you supposed to come in there?”

“I was going to,” the owl said. “Start again and don’t pause.”

“Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…” the bat paused.

“I wasn’t ready yet,” the owl said. “You’re obviously doing it wrong. I’ll start this time.”

Isaac checked to make sure he was big enough to not look like dinner and stepped into the clearing. “Hello,” he said.

“This choir is by invitation only,” the owl said.

“And you’re not invited,” the bat said. “So, go away.”

“I just have a few questions to ask, and then I’ll go away,” Isaac said.

“Do you think it would make him go away more quickly if we answered his questions?” the owl asked.

“He’d leave even faster if you tried to peck his eyes out,” the bat said.

“That’s rather barbaric,” the owl said.

“Then you can answer questions,” the bat said. “But I’m not getting involved. This is a choir, not an information booth.”

The owl snapped his beak and sighed. Then he stared at Isaac with his large golden eyes. “Well?” he asked. “Didn’t you have questions?”

“She’s expecting you,” Isaac told the waiting messenger ant.   The messenger ant nodded and left.

Isaac turned to the guard. “Do you know the way out of the forest? Or the potted plant? Or the lobby?”

The guard shook her head. “Ants only know the ways they are told. Except maybe the explorers or the queen. If you have a question you can ask her.”

“All right. Thank you,” Isaac said. “Which way is the forest path?”

“Over there, in the forest,” the guard said. She waved an arm towards the forest, and then turned to watch the aphids.

Isaac thanked her again, and then he left the fluffy aphid with the others on the tree.   The butterfly followed. Isaac turned to look at him. “Do you know where the forest path is?”

“It’s nearby. Follow me,” the butterfly said. It flapped its brown and tan wings and flew in and out of the tree trunks.

“Not so fast,” Isaac said. “I’m walking and that takes longer.”

“Then why don’t you fly?” the butterfly asked.

“I can’t,” Isaac said. “I don’t have wings.”

“You do have those narrow little wings,” the butterfly said.

“Those are arms,” Isaac said.

“The name hardly matters,” the butterfly said.

“They aren’t wide enough to be real wings,” Isaac said.   “I’m too big, and they’re too little.”

“I suppose you’re right,” the butterfly said. “Here’s the path.”

In front of them, a narrow, leaf-strewn path led into the forest. “Where does it lead?” Isaac asked.

“I don’t know,” the butterfly said. “It branches not that far from here, and I never could decide which road to take.”

“Do you know which path the spider took?” Isaac asked.

“No, I didn’t follow him in,” the butterfly said.   “It’s dark in there.” The butterfly landed on a tree and opened its wings. It seemed to disappear into the bark. Spots on its wings suddenly looked uncomfortably like eyes.

“Your wings look like they have eyes on them,” Isaac said. “When you disappear like that, it’s creepy.”

“Why?” the butterfly asked.

“I don’t know. I guess because I’m used to seeing eyes as part of faces,” Isaac said.

“Then you’ll just have to imagine the face,” the butterfly said. “Do you know which road you’ll take?”

“I guess I’ll go see what they look like, and then I’ll decide,” Isaac said.

“How will that make a difference?” the butterfly asked.

“I don’t know, but it might,” Isaac said. He turned to go and then paused. “Do you know the way out?”

The butterfly flapped her wings and reappeared. “The way out of where?”

“The forest. The potted plant. The lobby. The cave,” Isaac said.

“I don’t know about the rest, but you’re already out of the forest now,” the butterfly said. “Why go in if you don’t want to be there?”

“I want to be on the other side,” Isaac said. “The side with the big basket wall.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the butterfly said. “So, I suppose you’ll be much more likely to know where it is than I do. Perhaps you should ask yourself. Or look at the path and then decide if it’s right. You said that might help.”

“All right,” Isaac said. “Thanks for your help.”

The butterfly opened its wings and disappeared against the tree trunk again.   All that was visible were the eerie unblinking eyespots. Isaac turned and followed the forest path. The light was dim and yellow as it filtered through the trees.

Not too far in, the path branched in two directions. Both looked about the same, but one seemed a little less worn and definite. “If I was a spider running away from ants, I think I’d take that one,” Isaac said.   And he turned right and took the less traveled path.

The first landmark Isaac found was the shoe. Looking closely, he saw the small brown thread-like path he’d followed.   A few steps later, he saw two lines of small bushes with a little brick house behind them. “I’d better shrink again,” he said.

He took the feathers out of his pocket and held them pinched in-between his thumb and pointer finger. They seemed so small now. It felt a little silly, but he held his arms out to his side and pushed up against the air.

He shrunk quickly. Once again, he found himself on a dirt path, this time right outside the garden. Now he could ask for directions. He started down the path towards the front of the brick house.

“Make way, make way,” a voice called out behind him. Isaac looked back. An ant carrying a tall stick was hurrying down the road. There was plenty of room, but Isaac stepped off to the side and clutched his feathers. If the ants were still looking for him, he’d just grow too tall to be carried away.

“Make way,” the ant said again. “I carry an important message from the queen for Miss Muffet.”

Maybe he didn’t need to ask for directions after all. When the ant hurried past, Isaac tucked the feathers into his back pocket and followed her. When the ant passed the brick house, she followed the path as it turned right. It circled around the meadow until it was next to the forest.

A little wooden house was waiting at the end of the path, almost hidden by the tall trees around it. They were smaller than most of the trees in the forest, probably saplings, but next to the little house they looked enormous.

Perched on the lower limbs and trunks of the trees were white fluffy flocks of bugs. It was like someone had mixed up beetles and sheep. An ant stood at attention outside the house. She was watching the house, but turned when the messenger ant approached.

“I have an important message from the queen for Miss Muffet,” the ant said.

The guard ant shook her head. “Miss Muffet had a terrible scare this afternoon. She said I couldn’t accept any visitors or messages. I need to stay here and watch the aphids.”

“I cannot leave until my message is delivered,” the messenger ant said.

“You can wait here with me until tomorrow then,” the guard ant said.

“Can’t the messenger ant deliver the message herself?” Isaac asked without thinking.

Both ants turned to look at him. It was a little scary. “It would be rude to enter uninvited,” the messenger ant said.

“I cannot announce her,” the guard ant said.

The ants seemed friendly. Isaac told himself to be brave. “If the guard ant opens the door, then she invited you in,” he said.

“Perhaps,” the messenger ant said. “I don’t know.”

“She said no visitors,” the guard ant said.

“It wouldn’t really be a visit, though,” Isaac said.

“Perhaps,” the guard said.

“I can go deliver the message,” Isaac said.

The ants thought for a moment. “I can’t let someone else deliver the message,” the messenger ant finally said.

“I could tell Miss Muffet you are waiting and ask if you can come in,” Isaac said.

“That is acceptable,” the messenger ant said. The guard nodded.

And so, the guard ant opened the door and Isaac went inside. The floor was green with moss. He followed the hallway until it opened into a larger room.

The furniture was well built but looked like it was made to be useful rather than pretty. Open windows let in sunlight and breezes but could be closed with wooden shutters. On one of the windowsills, a brown and tan patterned butterfly opened and closed its wings. Around the room, there were wooden barrels filled with something clear that smelled sweet.

In the middle of the room, an ant sat on a bench rocking one of the wooly bugs. She looked up when he came in.   “Who are you?” she asked. “I said no visitors.”

“This isn’t really a visit,” Isaac said. “If you’re Miss Muffet, I’m just letting you know that there’s a messenger from the queen outside,” Isaac said.

“I am Miss Muffet.” The ant sighed. “Very well. Let the messenger in. The queen will be angry if I make her wait.”

Isaac turned to go.

“Wait,” Miss Muffet said. When he turned back, she held out the fluffy bug in her arms. “Take this aphid with you and put him on the tree with the others. He fell when that awful spider appeared out of nowhere and frightened us.”

“Where did the spider go?” Isaac asked.

“The guard chased him to the forest path,” Miss Muffet said. “He won’t be coming back.”

Isaac cradled the aphid in his arms and turned to go. The butterfly followed him out the door.

The ground was suddenly further away, and the bird seemed much smaller.   He’d grown again. He sighed in relief.

The bird squawked and seemed to fall out of the sky. “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” she said. “That really hurt.” She looked up at Isaac and began to hop away quickly.

“I won’t hurt you,” Isaac said. “I just didn’t want you to eat me. Are you all right?”

The bird flapped her wings. One of them seemed a little stiff. “I think I broke my wing,” she said. She hopped a little further away.

“Let me see,” Isaac said. He started to step forward, and then remembered the eggs.   He’d grown quickly while standing right next to the nest.   He was a little afraid to look.

Luckily, the eggs were fine. He’d bumped one out of place with his foot, and he could hear faint cheeping. He carefully took a big step away from the nest.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the mother bird said. Isaac looked back at the mother bird. She was running towards him, dragging her wings on the ground. Had she injured both of them? Running around like that would probably hurt them more, but she must be worried about her babies.

Isaac took a few more steps away from the nest, trying to watch where he stepped. The grass was probably full of little ladybugs and angry ants and creatures he hadn’t met yet.

“Don’t eat me, tall cat,” the mother bird said.   “I’m sure I look delicious and defenseless, but don’t eat me.” She was running away from Isaac, then circling closer, and then running again.   Her wings continued to drag on the ground.

“Stop, stop. I’m not a cat. I won’t eat you. You’re going to hurt yourself.   Please stop,” Isaac said. He crouched down, smiled, and reached out a hand towards the anxious bird. She danced out of reach.

“Of course you’re a cat. Who else appears out of nowhere? Who else smiles like that?” She asked.

Isaac stopped smiling. “Cats don’t smile. I’ve never seen a cat smile.”

“Who else but cats can lie convincingly like that?” the bird said. “Help, help, help!” She hopped closer, and then away, and then ran in a little circle, away from her nest.   As she ran, she fluttered and dragged her wings and continued to yell for help.

Isaac looked around nervously. Was he going to go to bird prison next? “I’ll just leave you alone, then,” he said. “Can I call a doctor for you? Do birds have doctors?”

The bird paused. “Are you asking me to tell you where more birds are, so that you can eat them after you’ve eaten me? Cats are always so terribly sneaky.”

“I’m not a cat,” Isaac said. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Stop lying,” the bird shrieked. “If you’re going to eat me, just get it over with.”

“I think I’m just going to leave now,” Isaac said.   “If I see a doctor, I’ll send them to see you.”

“Help, help, help,” the bird shrieked. Isaac walked away, watching where he stepped.   The bird finally stopped yelling.   And then, behind him, Isaac heard a faint whooshing sound.

He turned around. The mother bird was again flying in circles in the air above her nest. There was no stiffness in her wings any more. She was just fine.

“She tricked me,” he murmured. Then he smiled. She was just trying to protect her babies. But, it wasn’t him that was the liar, after all.

He looked around the grassy meadow. He needed to find Miss Muffet to find the spider to find the key to find the way home, but he still had no idea where to look. Maybe he should retrace his steps and go back and ask for directions at the brick house. As long as he was careful, it shouldn’t take long. He turned around and started to look for the path.

Isaac looked the baby bird in the eye that he could see through the hole in its eggshell. “I’m not your mother,” he said.

“I know that,” the baby bird said. Its voice was muffled. “You’re much too small. You look more like food. Besides, mother’s voice sounds different.”

“I’m not food,” Isaac said. “I’m really much bigger than this.”

“No you’re not,” the baby bird said. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Even if it doesn’t make sense, it’s true,” Isaac said. “I got shrunk by an elevator. Normally, I’m much bigger than your mother.”

“I don’t think anything is bigger than mother,” the baby bird said.

“Why?” Isaac asked.

“Mother talks to us all the time. She tells us about the tops of the trees and the mountains and the clouds.   She can look down on everything,” the little bird said.

“That’s because she can fly,” Isaac said.

“What’s flying?”

“Well, that’s when you move your body up in the air. You’re not taller, your feet are just further off the ground,” Isaac said.

“Show me,” the bird said.

“I can’t fly,” Isaac said.

“Why not?”

Isaac almost said that he was much too big to fly, but then he remembered that he wasn’t very big any more. “Well, I don’t have feathers or wings,” he said.

“What’s that?” the baby bird asked.

“You ask a lot of questions,” Isaac said.

“I have a lot to learn,” the baby bird said. “What are feathers or wings?”

Isaac looked around and picked up a long feather half-hidden in the grass.   “This is a feather. Birds like your mother have lots of them. Wings are the flappy arms that they use to fly.”

“If the wings are for flying, what are the feathers for?” the baby bird asked.

“To help catch the air, I guess. See, watch.” Isaac found another feather, and holding one in each hand, he pushed down on the air several times, as though he were a bird about to take off.

“You’re flying!” the baby bird said.

For a moment, Isaac believed it was true. He could look down at the grass below, and the eggs seemed much smaller.   Then he realized that his feet were still on the ground. “I’m not flying, I’m taller,” Isaac said. “My feet haven’t moved.”

“Well, come back,” the baby bird said. “I have more questions, and it’s harder to understand you way up there.”

“I don’t know how,” Isaac said.

“You were showing me how to fly,” the baby bird said. “So just do the opposite.”

“You mean landing?” Isaac tried pushing the air up with the feathers. They were smaller now and he had to adjust his grip. He flapped his arms and shrunk.

“This is great! Now I can leave,” Isaac said.

“Why do you want to leave?” the baby bird asked.

“Because I want to go home,” Isaac said.

“This is home,” the baby bird said.

Isaac sighed. “It’s not my home.”

“You could stay here and answer my questions,” the baby bird said. “Then it would be your home.”

“But I can’t fly. Not even with feathers. And I don’t have wings,” Isaac said. “Besides, I would miss my family too much.”

“What’s family?” the baby bird asked.

“It’s the people you love who love you too. Like your mom and dad and the other baby birds in the other eggs in your nest,” Isaac said.

“Is family part of home?”

“It’s what makes it home,” Isaac said. “My family could change houses, and then the new house would be home.   Home is where they are.”

“Then why are you here?” the baby bird asked.

“Because I don’t know how to get back,” Isaac said.

“I don’t understand,” the baby bird said.

“I hope you never do,” Isaac said. “Don’t leave your home until you’re old enough to find the way back.”

Suddenly, everything was a lot dimmer. Isaac looked up to see a large bird circling overhead. “It’s your mother!”

“Yay! Isn’t it wonderful? Now I’ll know what home looks like,” the baby bird said.

Isaac did not think this was wonderful. He was terrified she’d swoop in and eat him.  He needed to be too big to eat. Clutching the feathers a little tighter, he began to flap his arms, pushing down on the air around him.